The speaker in the poem uses the phrase "delicious solidarity" to imply that they B. appreciate being connected online. This phrase suggests a sense of enjoyment and fulfillment derived from shared experiences and emotions with others, highlighting the value of connection in the online space.
Morning’s glaring light tickles me.
I wake, even and ready for the day.
My phone trills—like a pet, greeting.
A thumb, a swipe, and friends rush in.
A scroll unravels, miles and miles of friends, acquaintances, and looser connections still,
and I drink in their news, their joy, their uncertainty,
their thoughts, and their day’s hopes.
My fingers tap across the screen as I spill my own morning quandaries into the world and then—
a swell of reactions, laughter, jokes, and solidarityshouting out that I am seen, felt, and heard!
The swell of connection carries me through my morning on a high tide of bliss,
wondering how anyone who lived in the before times managed
the distance between friends and loved ones
without the pure simplicity of pocket-sized accessibility.
Afternoon comes, and
notifications taper.
So little activity, though I refresh.
Low tide, low spirits.
And I wonder if I’ve said something wrong
or if I alone lack purpose beyond my screen.
Still, I scroll—
but nothing changes.
Evening comes and with it a flutter of activity—a spark of controversy that has all atwitter
A piece of news we chew together, rage in sync, in delicious solidarity.
Likes and loves, resentment of a common oppressor.
We surf the wave of emotion together—
posting, sharing, performing for ourselves and each other.
I eat dinner with my thumb on a hot screen in anticipation of the inevitable BING!
And the warmth is tangible, swelling around me like an embrace.
I feel at one with so many.
I post.
Strong words, strong feelings.
Fifteen minutes of silence pass by,
and then . . .
a surge of terror.
Did anyone read what I said?
Do they care?
My vulnerability is exposed
to the void.
The void is silent.
Silence is worse than anything.
I put my phone away and pick up a pen.
I sketch like I used to sketch as a child.
I change the pen for a book, and I read.
Soon, I’m tired, ready for bed, but I see
a red light blinking—a light that perhaps
can wait until tomorrow to claim me.
The speaker in the poem uses the phrase delicious solidarity to imply that they
A. try to avoid confrontation
B. appreciate being connected online
C. enjoy being alone at times
D. feel purposeless while on their phone
1 answer
1 answer